


Maybe Not

by the-eagle-of-masyaf (Dunkelherz)



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: AU, Angst, Aspergo, Aspergo Industries, Assassin's Creed - Freeform, Complete, Drama, First Time, Friendship, Homophobia, Kissing, Love, M/M, Male/Male, Mild Sexual Content, Oneshot, Regret, Remorse, Romance, Slash, Unrequited Love, Yaoi, handjob, kiss, thunderstorm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-24
Updated: 2012-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-12 19:04:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dunkelherz/pseuds/the-eagle-of-masyaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Altair had known that Malik would be his downfall he would've never made friends with the other boy. But after all love was a luxury they both couldn't afford. In the end the only thing that was left was the little question of 'what if'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe Not

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [А может, и нет](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3849238) by [romoonterra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/romoonterra/pseuds/romoonterra)



Sometimes, so it seemed to him, in moments like these he thought he was particularly close to the world; maybe because every leap could mean death – one slip and it was over. In moments like these when he was falling, the wind brought tears to his eyes and he felt unique, complete and free - alive. For a few seconds time stood still as his heart was beating wildly inside his chest. One moment of absolute bliss; only a short one though. 

 

When he fell back first into the hay, he stayed there for a few seconds to savor the rush further, a little bit longer. When he closed his eyes he had the feeling as if he could taste the clouds and the world was silent; so silent that he believed he could hear the flapping of a butterfly's wings. He was one, one with the world and all of its wonders and animals and for the blink of an eye his heart pulsed in total sync with the heartbeat of every single human being. The chains of his fate, his destiny were forgotten and all the screams of the poor souls that he had killed went silent and the eyes that had starred at him while his targets took their last breaths, stopped following him. 

 

For only one moment.

 

Because time didn't stand still and the blood was still on his hands. His weapons and equipment pressed into his body and the cold fist of fear took a hold of his heart once more and urged him to get up to move again.

 

His body started to react before his mind began to work again. With tense muscles he rolled over his side and jumped from the hay wagon out on the busy streets of Jerusalem. When he turned around he faced a group of women. As he stood suddenly in front of them, two of them let a surprised high-pitched scream loose and he pulled his hood deep into his face. With a wave of his hand he brushed the last remaining hay from his clothes and turned into a less busy side street and pressed himself deep into the shadows of a line of houses. 

 

With his back against up a wall he waited for hurried shouts of bored guards who followed their task to patrol the streets of Jerusalem only half-heartedly on a hot summer-day like today, but they also were easy to draw their blades to shed some blood. But all he could hear were the goings-on of Jerusalem's citizens and the sound of muttering voices which reminded him of a swarm of bees. 

 

His gaze fell on the opposite wall of a building and before he wasted any more of his time his hands grasped for the first protrusion and he climbed quickly up the front before he pulled himself over the edge It was hot on this afternoon, too hot as if he wanted to run above the roofs and be exposed to the sun, but the aggressiveness of the guards left him with no other choice. On a day like this only those who absolutely had to who couldn't afford to stay in the cool shadows of their homes left their houses. He again could refrain from guards who started to lose their minds from the heat 

 

He leaped from roof to roof and his shadow was flying above the earth. He lost his balance once and caught the edge of a roof-garden just in time and pulled himself up. He cursed silently as the pain from his hand collapsed like a wave over his body. The few archers he met were seeking the shadows of walls and nearby roofs and he suppressed a grin as he crept behind their backs and kept going unnoticed.

 

Sweat was running over his face and his clothes were sticking to his body by the time he let himself fall through the roof-opening of the Jerusalem's bureau. For a moment he stood still and breathed deeply before he yanked his hood down and shook his head, small droplets of sweat flew in every direction. 

 

“You lousy dog!” 

 

He recognized the voice and Altair closed his eyes as a barley visible smile was creeping over his face.

 

“Safety and peace”. His words sounded rough as his throat was dry and he hadn't used his voice for hours. He opened his eyes and turned around slowly. His gaze fell upon Malik who hadn't outgrown boyhood yet, and he watched him standing with bare chest near the water fountain in the courtyard while he let the cold water run over his hands and arms. 

 

Malik snorted. “Well, hardly since you're here now.” He eyed him from head to toe. “You stink.” he grimaced before he held his head underneath the fountain and let the water flow over his shoulders and back. The grey clothes of a novice laid next to his feet. Altair turned to his side and shifted his weight to lean backwards to peer around the corner of the bureau's entrance.

 

“The rafiq, is he here?”, he asked Malik without looking at him.

 

“The heat,” he answered and took up the clothes by his feet and rubbed his head with them to dry his hair, “— is getting to the old man. He's resting.” 

 

Altair gritted his teeth and his hands closed to fists. He couldn't afford any more delays. For a second he thought of just getting the feather that lay behind the counter by himself. He had all the information he needed, he knew that his target would be vulnerable the most at sunset – he couldn't wait for the old man and his permission to accomplish his task! 

 

He felt Malik getting closer and he stopped just one step behind him. He held his robe in his hands as droplets of water ran over his throat down to his chest, his black hair tossed. Where he had used the clothes to dry his hair the grey fabric was slightly darker. Altair starred at him. 

 

“If the heat's getting to the old man maybe he should make room for a younger one”, he snarled. “Time's running out.”

 

An ugly grin lifted the corners of Malik's mouth. “Three months an assassin and you're full of arrogance. Altair, it's good to see that you're still the same bastard.” 

 

Altair suddenly lifted his head and glared into Malik’s dark eyes but soon they softened. “It's good to see you my friend.” He thought for a moment if he should give the other man an embrace and as he watched Malik's fingers faintly twitching neither of them stirred, he knew Malik was thinking about the same but neither of them acted. Silence laid upon them like a dark cloud and he could hear the shouts of the merchants from the nearby market carried to them by the wind. Altair's look fell on his left hand where three months ago had been his ring-finger and all that remained was a stump which wasn't healed yet and still ached with dull pain. “What brings you to Jerusalem?” he finally asked Malik and his voice cut through the silence like a knife.

 

Malik fumbled with the sleeves of his clothes before he pushed them over his head and straightened them out so they fell properly over his chest. 

 

“Assignment from my master,” he answered and Altair almost didn't understand him because he had spoken so fast. He knew how much it made the older man feel aggrieved that he had been allowed to take the tests that would let him become an assassin while Malik was still learning. 

 

“Your robe,” Malik said finally and Altair looked up, “it's torn.” He gestured to his right hip.

 

“Just a beggar”, Altair explained and turned to his side to take the fabric between his hands to look at it thorough. “He was confused, probably by the heat. He asked for money and held on to me. As I wouldn't give him anything he asked if I was afraid. I told him 'No'.”

 

Malik looked up. 

“He laughed and called me stupid.”

“He was right”, Malik said.

Altair scoffed. “He was an old man, just a fool.”

“Then he was wise.”

 

Altair blinked with his eyes for a few times and looked at Malik. He asked himself where the days had gone where they acted careless around each other, about the time when their friendship had been innocent and wasn't stained by blood. Gone in the shadows of reality, he guessed. After all in the life of an assassin there was no room for friendship or love – it was a lonely, hard and short life. Each of them knew that just a little too well. Altair had never known is mother and he had lost his father far too early. Malik, just like Altair, had been born into the Order of the Assassin's. Even before Malik was conceived his fate had been sealed – Altair was no exception. Their lives had one purpose and one purpose only: to serve the Order, to live for and by the Creed and to murder for it. That was their purpose till the end of their days. Only a few, only the best lived long enough to die a natural death. Altair's father died by the blade of a traitor. On that day he swore to himself that he would be the best of all the assassins and damn, he was the best. Al Mualim himself, the Grand-Master of the Order, had chosen him as his pupil. Al Mualim had watched his training, trained him personally, pushed and challenged him. When Al Mualim would tell him 'Run' he'd run. Altair would run until his feet started to bleed, until his skin showed blisters from the sun burning down on him and until he threw up. When the other novices achieved good results, Altair's were never good enough. When Malik and his brother Kadar laid in their beds and slept exhausted by the efforts of the day, Altair sat at his Master's desk and learned the languages of countries far away while a candle gave some light. 

 

Altair watched Malik's face thoughtfully. When they were young they shared a deep friendship. They rarely tried to surpass one another, instead they tried to learn by the mistakes of the other. Malik had always been better at swordplay than him, but the younger one's stamina was by far better than Malik's. They had learned and fought side by side. In those years they had spent together they created an iron front no one could break. But when Malik hit his seventeenth birthday he was chosen by a Master-Assassin to become his novice. Only three days later Malik left on a black stallion. Altair remembered all too well how he had sat secretly on a cliff to wish his friend farewell.

 

“Malik! Wait, Malik”, he had screamed and waved wildly with his arms to get noticed. Malik pulled hard the reins of his horse and it stopped in a cloud of dust. “Altair”, he hissed at him and starred at the boy above him, “What are you doing here? You're supposed to clear out the stables.” His face was an angry mask but a smile had stole its way into his voice.

 

“Where are you going?”, he had asked him and wished for the ground to open and swallow him as he heard his voice breaking. Those last few weeks his body had changed. There grew hair were none had been before, his shoulders were broader and his voice had started to change – now his words sounded like the squawk of a raven. Restless he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. 

 

Malik was his friend, his only friend and in the last years there hadn't passed a day they didn't spent together. Altair would have never admitted it, but if Malik left he would feel just as lonely as he had when his father had died. “Go back Altair! The master sent me on a mission.” And he had pressed his heals in his horse's flanks and rode away at a fast speed without leaving another word or a goodbye. Altair had noticed how much pride swung within Malik's voice. “But Malik!”, he had called after him and thought about to jump down the cliff but it was too high and Malik was already too far gone. He could only watch how the boy was swallowed by the horizon. 

 

In the first few weeks Malik had been gone, he and Kadar, Malik's younger brother of five years, had missed him and shared their sorrow. It wasn't like Altair and Kadar shared a deep friendship. He and Malik had spent many hours tormenting the boy or played a prank on him when they were children. Still, Altair knew that Kadar was a good fighter and he respected him for that. He just could never break the ice that had formed over them before a friendship had had a chance. But it took more than two years for the older brother to return. At that point Al Mualim had already taken Altair as a novice. Since then their friendship had never been the same as it had been before Malik's departure. Their training had forced a wedge between them they couldn't bypass it. 

 

Before the memories could return to him completely, Altair pushed them quickly to the side. 

 

He shook his head as if he wanted to shed the chains of the past, but the knot that had built inside his chest wouldn't loose. “I see, the words about my promotion has reached even you. Haven't you been in Damascus?”, he asked and started to loosen the straps of his weapon-belt.

 

“Indeed. I arrived three hours ago and wait for further instructions.” 

 

His throwing knives fell to the ground and Altair stopped with his sword in his hands before he laid it on the floor carefully. He sat down and started to remove his boots. 

“Didn't you have a mission you wanted to accomplish as soon as possible?”, Malik asked and watched Altair while he was slowly stripping of his clothes. 

 

“The sun's about to settle and since the old man would rather sleep than follow his duties as a rafiq I might as well clean myself and get some rest”, he answered. 

 

“Show some respect to your elders, boy!” a firm voice sounded behind him and both men looked up. The cane which the old man used to hold himself up hit Altair at the back of his head. He lifted his hands in a protective manner and cursed quietly as he rubbed the spot where the cane had hit him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Malik grinning.

 

“Safety and Peace”, he greeted finally and Altair mumbled his greetings back. “Malik, be a good boy and look on the roof if any news have arrived”, he told him turning around before he vanished inside the shadows of the bureau . “You can wash yourself and eat something if you wish, Altair. After that I want to hear from you what you could find out”, Altair heard his voice coming from the inside and Malik had already climbed more than the half of the wall behind him and as Altair turned around he could only see his feet being dragged over the edge of the roof. 

 

He pulled down his trousers and walked to the water fountain to wash himself like Malik had earlier. Before he was done, Malik jumped down from the roof, three pells in his hand. Without paying him any attention he walked through the door inside the bureau. Altair could hear their voices, but couldn't make out the words. When he felt clean and alive again he pulled on his clothes without bothering to dry himself first, sat down and took some from the fruits inside the basket that stood next to the many pillows that littered the ground. As he felt sated he rose and went inside. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the dim light but he recognized Malik standing at the counter hunched over a map and the old rafiq, which leaned heavy on his cane, with his back turned to Altair studying the books standing in the shelf behind the counter. 

 

“Altair”, he said without turning around.

 

Altair begun to speak without waiting for permission: “I could observe the target's habits for the last couple of weeks. He's the owner of the quarry near Solomon's Temple. Every evening at sunset he's sitting in his garden and drinks some tea. At the same time his private guards are switching their shifts. I could hear two of his servants talking. A couple of weeks ago he had a visitor. He was from France, at least that's what the servants said. He gave a letter to him. He never let the document out of sight ever since and wears it with him every day. .I believe his visitor could have been one of the Templar that had been seen in Jerusalem the last couple of months just like Master had said. I will go tomorrow at sunset to deal with the matters and interrogate the quarryman. He will be dead by the night.” 

 

During his flood of words the rafiq had turned and nodded approving. A smile played around his wrinkled lips which laid hidden between his long grey beard. 

 

“I see Al Mualim did good work. It wasn't a waste to appoint you an assassin”, he answered him. “If you're ready I will give you your feather. But for the night you're free of your duties.” 

 

Altair nodded barely. While he had been speaking Malik had left the bureau. For the first time in weeks, no, months, Altair had enough spare time and since Malik told him that he was waiting for further instructions he hoped that it would be possible for him to spend some time with his old friend. In the last two years, that's how long it had been since Al Mualim took Altair as his novice, he could count the weeks with one hand in which he had seen Malik and even then he was too busy with training, learning and doing chores – Malik was no different. The times in which they had trained side by side and shared a friendship ended the day Malik had ridden away without looking back. 

 

He stepped outside and the heat of the past day hit him. Indeed Malik was sitting inside the court cleaning his weapons. He looked up as he heard Altair coming and stopped for a moment, before he continued. 

 

“Word of your master?”, he finally asked him and let himself down to the ground next to Malik. He let his elbows rest upon his knees, his hands dangling between them his fingers loosely entwined. 

 

“No”, came the reply and he lifted his sword proving and closed one eye to see over the blade. Minutes passed where Altair sat silently and Malik continued cleaning his weapons neatly. Finally he couldn't stand it any longer and he wondered why, because in the past he and Malik could spent hours without talking to each other and none of them felt uncomfortable. But now it was different. “How long has it been since the last time we saw each other?” he asked. Malik finished the cleaning of his blade, sheathed his sword and put the dirty clothe to the side. Only then did he answer: 

 

“Shortly before your trial. Four months ago.” 

 

Altair nodded and put his lower lip between his fingers. “I thought it had been longer.” He lifted his hand and rubbed his neck uncomfortably. “Malik, back then when we were younger. When the thunderstorm happened...”

 

“Stop. Don't.” Malik's voice was icy and he gazed the opposite wall. “You swore.”

 

“But I-”

 

“Not one more word! Do you hear me?” Malik stood up suddenly and glared at him with dangerous eyes. “You swore...”, he repeated and his voice was merely a whisper. His eyes starred into nothingness and he cleared his throat after a while. “After all these years – why?” And he looked at him, not the whisper of a look, no, a full stare. 

 

Altair suddenly saw all the fine changes of Malik as his glance roamed over the older man's body. His arms had more muscles and his hands were covered with calluses. He hair was still cut very short just like all the other novices did. On his chin he wore a small goatee now and the hair was as black as the ones on his head. His shoulders were broader and around his eyes were wrinkles despite his young age. The fighting and training had had him aged. His nails were bitten short and the flesh around them was infected. There was a fine scar on his throat just above his Adam's Apple, a scar he had never noticed before. Malik seemed so foreign to him at the moment. 

 

“Malik”, he said finally and his voice sounded heavy, “it has been three months since I had my trial and was accepted as an assassin into the Order. I can't and I won't tell you any details as I swore I wouldn't. But when I used the blade for the first time and lost my finger I thought I would pass out from the pain, but I remembered the time when we were children. Do you remember the winter when I was twelve?” 

 

Malik stood above him, his arms crossed in front of his chest, but when Altair asked him the question he slowly let them drop. 

 

“You had run over the frozen river. But the ice wasn't thick enough to hold you and it broke.” 

 

Altair nodded. “You had pulled me out. Had laid down on your stomach and took my hand.” He looked Malik directly into the eyes before he rose slowly. “You ripped the wet clothes off of me and gave me yours. But I had been too long in the water and the air was too cold. I remember that I was very tired. I was angry because you kept screaming at me and all I wanted to do was to sleep. Everything hurt so very much. My toes, my fingers, my face. You urged me on to the fortress.” He stopped to take a deep breath. “When I lost my finger your words from back then echoed inside my head over and over. They urged me and let me continue.” 

 

He watched Malik swallow. “A new life begun for me when I received my blade.” He pushed back his sleeve and showed him the hidden blade that laid beneath leather. He laughed bitterly. “When I think about it, then you might be right after all when you said the beggar was wise. Indeed I am a fool if I believed that my old life still holds a place in my new one.” 

 

Altair turned around and he grabbed the edges of the wall. He climbed it quickly without giving Malik a chance to react to his words. He felt his eyes upon his back when he stood near the opening of the bureau, but the man didn't stop him. Altair didn't waste any time and started to run. He leapt over roofs with high speed. He passed archers and heard shouting but it faded quickly as he jumped over urban canyons. Before the guards could do anything he was already gone. His breath burnt inside his lungs as he saw the church tower in front of him. He quickly climbed it. He granted himself some rest on a wooden bar when he finally reached it's spire . His chest rose and fell quickly and he leaned with his back against the roof. He didn't know why he had run, but suddenly it had felt impossible to stand Malik's gaze any longer. The closeness to the other man had taken away the air to breathe and he had run away like a coward. He laughed scornfully and wiped his sweaty face with one hand. In the past weeks he had often thought about Malik. Never before in the past years had the image of the man haunted his dreams so often. But what he had said was the truth. He couldn't find the right words in front of Malik and he wasn't sure if he got the message. He hopped so even though he could slap himself for it. If Master could see him now, he would be disappointed and Altair hoped dearly that the rafiq hadn't listened to their conversation. 

 

His gaze lingered upon the horizon and he watched as the night took over the day and let himself float in his thoughts without paying any attention to his surroundings. 

 

“You've always been faster than me. That will never change, Altair.” 

 

Altair flinched and he had almost, only almost, lost his balance. He turned around and saw Malik climbing the church tower behind him. 

 

“An unfocused assassin is a dead assassin. Didn't they tell you that, novice?” 

 

A smile stood upon his face, a full sincere smile Altair hadn't seen in years. When Malik came closer Altair swung his right leg over the right side of the bar and did the same with his left. Malik moved one hand over the other on the stony surface until he could pull himself over the panel as well. He mirrored Altair's sitting position, his back turned to the chasm behind him as Altair still leaned with his back against the church's roof. Both men faced each other and Malik's right leg swung nervously fore and back, his hands between his thighs his arms outstretched. 

 

He sighed finally as an eagle flew above their heads and let a high-pitched scream loose. 

 

“Altair... do you still remember how we pictured our lives when we were younger? You and I against the evil of the world. There shouldn't be any country where they didn't fear our names. No one should do injustice without fearing to die by our blades. Women and glory should lay to our feet, feasts should be celebrated in our honor. And now? Four weeks ago I had to jump into a manure pit while I was chased by guards. Get rid of that stupid grin, it wasn't as funny as it sounded. I almost died. It took me days to get rid of the smell. I slept between goats and their filth. Days go by where I don't eat because I don't have the money to pay for it.”

 

He smiled sadly and Altair realized that he didn't miss the years as an novice not even slightly, because unlike as an assassin novices weren't allowed to have any possessions including money. All too often he himself had to sleep in the open, wherever it was raining or snowing. There was one time when he had traveled for a couple of weeks and it had rained for days. The rain had caused a river to burst it banks. Normally the water was only as high as his waist but with the rain of the last days it was too high for him to pass it safely. To turn around would have cost him weeks. He had waited for days until the water fell, his supplies were long gone and he was forced to kill and slaughter his horse so he wouldn't starve. No, he didn't miss those times and he felt with Malik. 

 

“So you see”, Malik said finally and the smile upon his lips died, “reality is different. And you're right when you say that you gained a new life. I have too. We both have. For the friend you are to me, let me give you some advice: live here and now and don't look back. Let the past go or it will hold on to you forever. We are assassins and we can't show any weakness because it could mean our deaths. I shouldn't have been able to sneak up on you like I had. You were lost in your thoughts, not focused.” He stopped for a moment and starred at his hands. “You are my brother, Altair. And yes, time changes. But you will always be my friend, my brother. No more, no less.” 

 

Altair's glance fell on Malik's mouth and he watched how the tip of his tongue darted out to wet his lips and suddenly his throat went very dry. He knew that Malik was right, that it were Malik who taught him once more an important lesson. Malik's hand hit him playfully on his thigh and stopped the tracks of his thoughts that started to build inside of his head.

 

“Come on then”, he said after a while. “A race for the old times sake.” And he got up and stood on the panel in front of Altair, only his toes touching it while his heels hovered in air. Malik grinned at him and spread his arms. “Go”, he said softly and let himself fall. 

 

Altair starred at the spot where Malik had stood for a few seconds before he leapt and as he fell, this time it wasn't the wind that brought tears to his eyes.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Will you spend the night at the bureau?”, Malik asked him and stuffed one of the dates in his mouth while he propped himself up on his elbows on one of the bigger pillows.

 

Altair mustered him and took a fig. “Where else?” he asked him with his mouth full and crossed his legs underneath him naked toes wiggling.

 

Malik hid his mouth behind the hand in which he held another date. “How old are you now? Eighteen. Most men in that age prefer to spend the night with a woman in their arms.” 

 

Altair almost choked and he starred to the side as he felt the heat rise to his cheeks. For a moment nothing happened, Malik continued eating starring at him before his eyes went wide. His jaw fell and when he passed the first shock he started laughing. 

 

“No!”, he forced out between chuckles and let the dates fall. “You're kidding, right?” He leaned over so his face was only inches away from Altair's. He starred at him with amusement in his eyes. “You're still-”

 

“Be still already”, Altair swiped at him and his head snapped around to throw an angry glare at Malik. His cheeks were very visibly red. His fingers fumbled with the hem of his clothes. “It's not any of your business”, he growled and took another fig. Malik leaned back and nodded silently and Altair sighed heavily in relief for Malik would let go of the topic as fast as it had come up. Altair pushed the plate with the fruits away and let himself fall on his back in the pillows his hands crossed behind his head and starred at the night sky. An uncomfortable silence fell over them. 

 

“So you have never shared a bed with a woman?” Malik's voice cut through the stillness and Altair felt how all the muscles in his body tensed. He ground his teeth and closed his eyes. He would just ignore Malik – that sounded like a good plan and sooner or later his friend would get tired of the topic. Unfortunately Malik thought very differently and didn't have in the slightest interest to speak about something different and didn't notice how tense Altair was or just chose to ignore it – maybe he really wanted to talk about sex, maybe he just enjoyed tormenting Altair with his virginity.

 

“Why? Has the master never taught you about anatomy or the function of the body?” 

 

Altair shut his eyes tightly. If he would just think about it hard enough, maybe he would wake up in his chamber back at Masyaf. He could almost hear Malik's thoughts before he even spoke them. 

 

“Ah, maybe it's that! You're not able to perform, is it? Maybe you should go see a doctor about that, I heard there are ways to-”

 

But he couldn't fight it any longer before his anger overthrew him. “Why are you still talking?”, he hissed at him angrily and turned to his side facing the wall. “I don't have any interest in it, that's all.” He pushed his hand under his chin and pulled his legs to his chest. But if there was something Altair didn't miss about his childhood then it was Malik and how he held on to a topic like a mosquito would attach itself to ones skin and wouldn't let go. 

 

“No interest?”, he snarled. “When I was seventeen my master sent me to a brothel because I kept focusing on women and not on my target as I was supposed to. There was this one woman with the biggest-” And finally embarrassment showed in his voice and he stopped mid-sentence. Altair felt his gaze on his back. 

 

“Don't tell me you never ever had the desire to bury your face in a woman's bosom to feel her soft skin.”

 

“No...”, Altair murmured and it sounded as helpless as the mew of a newborn kitten. Malik laughed and it sounded like the barking of a dog. 

 

“No interest – how do you find relief then? Maybe you should try it, there are brothels here, go there find a woman and maybe-”

 

“I'm not interested in women, Malik!” It forced itself out before he knew it was coming and he shot up to a sitting position. His shoulders trembled, his breathing came erratic and his eyes were wide open. He didn't just say that, did he? Within a few seconds Altair knew, just knew all to well, that Malik was thinking about the same memory he was– when he was sixteen and Malik eighteen. He didn't want it but he had just shared a secret that no one should ever know because it couldn't just end with him forced out of the Order but with him stoned to death. He didn't dare to turn around, didn't dare to meet the look of the other man.

 

“After all these years? Still?”, Malik finally asked and his voice sounded as soft as a blanket that wrapped itself around Altair's body but the coldness that crept up inside his heart had laid iteself above him like a shadow. He shook uncontrollably. 

 

“You had said-” Altair stopped as his voice failed and he wet his lips. “You had let me swear to tell no one about it. I haven't. Then be so kind and do the same.”

And Altair let himself fall back on the pillows and he found a restless sleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

On the next morning when the sun baked his face Altair woke up and Malik had been long gone. It was in the middle of the night when a carrier pigeon came and brought the instructions of his master for his new assignment and he set off right away. Altair had the whole day to pass and had set off near sunset to interrogate and eliminate his target – successfully. Only that his success brought more questions than answers with it and on the next morning he had departed to return to Al Mualim to bring him the news personally.

 

Six months later, Altair was in Acre, he heard that Malik had succeeded at his trail to become an assassin. 

 

Two years passed before he saw Malik again and Altair had spent the last year in France, sent by Al Mualim who wished for him to gather information about an artifact, something like a treasure, which the Templar were looking for, and his master had the suspicion that it wouldn't take them much longer to find it. Finally, at the age of twenty, he came back to Masyaf and had been promoted to Master-Assassin. It was the first time for a man that young of age to gain the title and he felt proud. And as much as he wished for Malik to be at his side in that moment, he hadn't been there. 

 

A few weeks after his promotion it was in the middle of the night when he returned from a mission back to his chambers in Masyaf and when he opened his door, he saw a figure sitting on his bed. Within the blink of an eye his hands found the hilt of a throwing knife but before he could throw them, the figure started to speak.

 

“You're back.” It was Malik and his voice was quiet. Altair let his hands down and shut the door behind him. It was full moon and a cloudless night and the silver light fell through his windows into his small chambers and put Malik's face in shadows. 

 

“Obviously”, Altair replied and leaned with his back at the door. 

 

“Congratulations”, said Malik and rose. He stood still in front of the bed. “I've heard that you're a master now.” 

 

Altair starred at him through the darkness and the memories of their last meeting back in Jerusalem were so near that he almost thought it had been yesterday. 

 

“The youngest master-assassin Masyaf has ever seen. You must be proud.”

 

“Indeed.” Altair took one step in front of him and found that the white robes of an assassin looked good on Malik. He pulled his fingerless gloves from every single digit. The stump, where one his ring-finger had been, had ceased to hurt a long time ago. 

 

“Al Mualim spoke to me”, Malik explained to him. “Kadar and I shall come with you to Jerusalem next week.”

 

“That I've heard.” Altair's voice sounded cold and he didn't know why a lump of ice had built inside his stomach. In the past two years he had missed Malik more than ever before and now, so suddenly, Malik stood in front of him and his face and voice showed no emotion. Maybe, so he thought, because in the meantime he had watched so many of his brothers die. Altair had let go of the people who were dear to him with every single death he had witnessed, . He had left the past behind him, but he had also forgot about it. Maybe, just maybe, he had put Malik's advice into practice too good – more than he had intended to. Altair had cut right through the strings that had them connected within their friendship. He could see vaguely how Malik smiled. 

 

“Kadar is excited. I told him that it's an honor to fight by your side.” 

 

Altair scoffed and his hands closed and opened rhythmically. “Of course it is”, was his reply and his voice was full of arrogance. 

 

Malik took one step nearer to him and stopped at arm's length in front of him. “Altair, may I ask you a question?” 

 

Altair nodded barely. 

 

“Is this the life you had hoped for? At least you earned the glory we both wished for when we were children.”

 

Altair lifted his head and glared at him. Malik's question pulled him right back into the past and he was angry, because in the last two years he had tried so hard to get rid of it, to forget everything that had happened and just look forward. Why did Malik do this to him for he knew how hard it had been for him? “Wishes and hopes don't have a place in my life anymore, Malik, therefore it doesn't matter if my hopes are fulfilled or not.” 

 

Malik starred at his feet as he heard Altair's words. “You have changed, my friend”, he told him quietly and didn't dare to look at Altair. “I just hope our friendship hasn't.” 

 

Altair glared at him. “Hope will be your downfall. Don't be a fool.” 

 

Malik took a silent breath and took a step around Altair, his hand upon the door-handle, but he didn't push it down just yet. “I can see the sacrifices you've made to become a master, Altair. Unfortunately it seems that I am among them.” 

 

And before he could push down the handle Altair grasped his arms and threw him onto the bed. With his back against the mattress Malik kept still as he starred in shock at Altair, who pushed one of his knees next to his hip and hovered above him. “Don't put false words into my mouth, Malik. Weren't you the one who told me to live in the Here and Now? Well, I did nothing but that and in my last year in France I finally understood that the people I hold dear are nothing more than moments who fly by and shatter as easily as glass.” His breath came erratic and brushed over Malik's face.

 

“Tell me”, Malik started and looked up at him, “do you regret those moments.” His last words, not a question but a statement. And Altair felt such hate at that moment that he thought he was burned alive. 

 

“The only thing I regret is what I had swore to you three years ago.” 

 

Within the next few seconds after he had spoken the words that had ate at him for years, Altair saw that Malik understood. Back then when he was sixteen and Malik had been eighteen and had just come back after almost two years, they had crept their way out of the fortress. Altair could almost see the images of those moments play behind Malik's eyes. 

 

“I missed you”, he had said and was surprised at the words. He never would had thought he was capable to show such weakness. He'd never felt stronger. Malik had been sitting next to him, his head tilted back to watch the stars. 

 

“Yeah... me too”, he had said after a while and Altair almost didn't dare to look at him as he had turned around to face him. 

 

“Have you killed someone yet?” For a moment Altair had heard how Malik's breath stopped his face an emotionless mask. His fingers had pulled out the grass underneath him while he waited for the older boy to find the right words to give him an answer. The crickets had chirped and a gust of wind tousled Altair's hair. He had waited. 

 

“I have.” 

 

The words had been a whisper just the breath of a long fainted memory. 

 

On an open field they had been surprised by a thunderstorm and together they had run through rain to a small stable to seek shelter. Out of breath and soaked to the bones they had laid next to each other while the goats behind them were bleating in surprise. His hands had been laying on his stomach as he had waited for his breath to settle. It had been dark as he heard the raindrops fell on the roof. Straw was tickling him as he had heard Malik lying next to him breathing fast and he had turned on his side. With every second his eyesight got better and soon he saw the outlines of Malik sprawled on the floor next to him. The first thunderbolts had been tearing through the sky and illuminated the night. With every flash Altair had watched to droplets of rain falling from Malik's hair running down his throat. He had felt the heat starting in his cheeks traveling further down his body to collect in his lower stomach. 

 

It had been the same heat he had felt whenever he had watched the men practicing with their swords inside the training's circle. When their chests had been bare, sweat running down their stomachs Altair had had a... hard time to cover his embarrassment. He remembered when he had been fifteen, and Al Mualim had taught him how a man was able to bless a woman with a baby. He had asked him if it were also possible for two men to seek each other's affinity. He had been told that it was a sin, blasphemy and would be punished with death. He had asked himself for a long time what were wrong with him. Why he had such thoughts when he had laid in his bed at night his mind traveling to regions that were forbidden. It was then that Altair had remembered the Creed. 

 

Nothing is true. 

 

Everything is permitted. 

 

He couldn't hold back any longer. He had kissed the other boy as he had propped himself on his elbows and leaned over. It had been innocent, really, just a brush of lips against lips. Malik had been surprised and pushed him back, out of breath, but Altair had seen the blush on his face. For a few seconds nothing had happened, but when the first thunder rolled above their heads through the night, Malik had took him by the shoulders and pushed him into the straw and his lips had found his. It was a kiss, a full-blown kiss with tongue and teeth. His jaw had been forced open when Malik had hold his face between his hands, his thumb pressing down. Within seconds Altair had lost the control and their hands roamed over each others bodies. It had almost looked like a fight when they stripped themselves of their shirts and Malik had cursed under his breath while Altair wasn't able to form any words. They had been laying next to each other with bare chests. One of Malik's legs was draped over Altair's while he was hoovering above him. His hands had loosened his trousers, his fingers eager to disappear into them. 

 

Malik's tongue and teeth had found the juncture of Altair's neck where it joined his shoulder and he knew that this wasn't the first time Malik had done something like that. Jealousy tore through his body like the thunderbolts in the sky as Altair asked himself who it had been Malik had shared this with. But when the boy's fingers wrapped themselves around his flesh and a thumb was brushing gently, he had to close his eyes and all of his thoughts were gone as lust threatened to burn him alive. A low moan escaped his lips and his hips had arched into Malik's hands. The other boy had been chuckling lowly and Altair could had come right then and there. His hands twisted the straw underneath him as he threw his head back. He didn't know how he could fight what Malik were doing to him. He had wanted it to last forever but after all he was just a boy, only sixteen years old and inexperienced. A firm knot had started to built inside his stomach, the tips of his fingers and his toes started to tingle and Altair had felt like as if he was pulled inside his body before a great force pushed him out again and his very soul exploded in a white light. 

 

His flesh went slowly limp inside Malik's hand while he was starring at him. He had laid there, gasping and feeling the wet on his stomach. It took him a while as he was still overcome with the strength of his orgasm, but when he had moved again and looked down at his body he saw and felt Malik's arousal pressing against his thigh. With trembling fingers he had touched the boy's trousers and opened them slowly as he had looked Malik in the eye. For the first time in his life Altair had touched another man. Not just a man but his best friend. The excitement he felt was almost too much to bare. His breath hitched. He had licked his lips as they had went dry and Malik used the opportunity to give him another kiss. This time though it had been more gentle, a slowly but intense kiss that grew with every second. He hadn't dare to look down as he had started to stroke Malik and he had felt awkward when he had hold him inside his hand. After all this had been very new to him but Altair was certain when this was over he wanted to do it over and over again. With Malik.

 

It took Malik longer than Altair to achieve his climax and Altair thought it was because he had been far more experienced than him. It had made him feel a little embarrassed. But at least it didn't took a thought or dream anymore for him to come without touching himself at all. Malik's breath had brushed his face and he had heard the soft moans and groans right next to his ear. Somehow it had made him feel proud that it was him, Altair, who could bring Malik to make such sounds. It was then that he had decided to hear those sounds again. That he wanted to kiss Malik again. That maybe next time they could do more – but for now this was enough. 

 

When Malik had come and Altair had felt his semen covering his hand, the other boy had rolled off of him and laid on his back, panting while one of his arms covered his eyes. The thunderstorm had moved on and for a moment the only thing they could hear were their erratic breaths and the chirping of the crickets outside. The goats moved behind them, chewing and bleating. Reality had come slowly back to Altair with every breath he took. 

 

His body felt loose and relaxed and the heat that had rushed through his body went slowly away. Instead it had been replaced with something else, something dark and cold. It was called remorse. What they had done were wrong and even though Altair didn't thought that something that had felt that wonderful could be bad, he knew that in the eyes of all the others he and Malik were godless sinners. It could mean his death. He could die for what they had done. He would never become an assassin, he wouldn't die in battle. No. They would stone him to death like if he was nothing more than an animal. 

 

But – it had felt wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. And wasn't it the creed that told him nothing was true? Everything was permitted? Those few minutes he had laid next to Malik, panting and satisfied he had felt at peace. For the first time in his life he had felt at peace and close to the world, unique, complete and free, alive. When he had laid in Malik's arms time had stood still and the only thing he had felt was his heart beating wildly inside his chest. One moment of absolute bliss. He had been one, one with the world and everything that had troubled him was gone.

 

No. Something as beautiful as this couldn't be bad, couldn't be a sin. Not this. Not love. 

 

In the end it had been Altair who spoke first. “Malik-” but he didn't came any further as he felt how Malik had grabbed his throat and wrapped his finger around it, but he didn't yet add pressure to his hold. 

 

His face had been only inches away from that of Altair. “If you're thinking about to tell anyone about this then I will cut your throat, I swear! It was wrong Altair, a sin! We are both men, we shouldn't have done that. Swear to me you won't speak about this ever again!” And Altair had starred at him with wide eyes, confused and hurt, but when Malik's fingers pressed down he forced the answer between his lips that should change everything. 

 

“I swear! Malik, I can't breath, I swear! Do you hear me?” And Malik had let go of him, stood up and pulled on his shirt. He had just left. 

 

Now in his chamber in Masyaf Altair saw anger flashing behind Malik's eyes where he laid beneath him on the bed. “It was a sin, Altair”, he told him and repeated the word he had spoken to him four years ago. “And still, when you had confessed to me that you prefer men instead of women I hold onto our friendship in those years we spent apart. I've never judged you for your blasphemous choice and I've never told anyone.” 

 

The back of Altair's hand met Malik's cheek and the force of it throw his head to the side. Immediately Malik's eyes found those of Altair and he starred at him angrily, his face nothing but an ugly mask. “How dare you-”

 

“How dare you to lie at my face!”, Altair scoffed and interrupted him. “You've never judged me because of our friendship or out of pity, but because you feel the same!” Altair's hands grabbed his wrists and pinned them to the mattress as Malik tried to get up. “Since that night in the stable you've treated me differently and made sure not to come near me and you were very successful with it; to be honest you were so successful that we've hardly see each other in years.”

 

Malik's face went soft and he looked at Altair intense. “It was a mistake. I shouldn't have returned the affection like I did then. And I am sorry when I gave you false hopes, but even if I would feel the same as you, what would happened then? Would we have left the order to live in shame? Always hiding from the looks of the other, from the eyes of god? When you truly believe that then it was a mistake by Al Mualim to pronounce you an assassin, a master even, and then you're nothing more than a dumb farmer’s boy.”

 

Altair let go of one of his wrists and he lifted his hand and closed it to a fist and for half a second he thought about punching Malik in the face, over and over gain. But he didn't do anything and instead stay bent over the other man's face. His lower lip quivered and he felt the rush he felt before he performed the final blow upon one of his targets. But this man underneath him wasn't one of his targets, but the man that was his best friend during childhood and he hated himself for that. 

 

“You can't blame me all alone, Altair. You've tried to run away from this as well.” 

 

Altair listened attentively and with trembling fingers he lowered his fist. “Was that – a confession?” 

 

But Malik snorted at the question. “So arrogant, you only hear what you want to hear, Altair. No, it wasn't. Now let me go.” 

 

But Altair didn't let go, instead he just starred down at Malik and he suddenly understood. It laid in front of him, all he had to do was to outstretch his fingers and take it. “You are right”, Altair said and his voice was merely a whisper, “I was on the run. But only because I couldn't accept the facts. I didn't understand it.” He got up and took a step away from the bed, so that Malik could get up as well and he sat on the bed. He rubbed his wrists. “Do you remember, two years ago, the beggar I told you about? He had asked me if I was afraid and I told him 'no'. You knew it back then, Malik. It was a lie. I was afraid, a lot. I was afraid to die during a mission and regret my life. All those years I believed I would regret trying to forget our night together. No, I realize that it wasn't true. I do not fear anymore. I don't have anything to regret, you made very clear that there's nothing to do so.” He turned away from Malik. “I just hope that one day we're both free. Maybe not with a look. Maybe not with words. But with our mind.” It was silent for a very long time and the minutes passed. At some point Altair heard the rustling of fabric and Malik's steps behind him. He didn't see it when Malik pushed down the handle of his door, only heard it closing behind the man and Altair finally let loose the tears that had backed up behind the lump in his throat while he had lied to Malik.

 

 

* * *

 

 

One week later Altair, Kadar and Malik had departed for their way to Jerusalem. Altair had hide any little bit of emotion behind a mask of pride and arrogance. Only when Robert de Sable had thrown him through the wall underneath Solomon's Temple and he had heard the screams of Kadar and Malik, he finally saw his mistakes and he knew that he could never do enough atone for his sins, or rid himself of the guilt that laid heavy on his shoulders.

 

He had ridden back to Masyaf and had told Al Mualim about his failure. When Malik had suddenly appeared behind him his eyes full of hate as they starred at Altair, there was nothing left to feel. Neither pride nor regret or guilt. Everything that was left was emptiness that threatened to swallow him. He had followed his masters orders just like in trance and he didn't feel joy as he had put the Templar to flight to safe Masyaf. While Al Mualim had stood in front of him two assassins to each side of Altair having a hold of him, all he could think about was how he could suppress the tears and Altair, the arrogant, stoic Master-Assassin, came back in all its glory to hide his true feelings.

 

The knife hit him unexpected. To his surprise he didn't feel the pain. A figure caught his eye and he looked up to see Malik standing in one of the windows of the fortress, watching him. It was the last he saw as his surroundings suddenly fell into ruin like a shattered sheet of glass. The colors turned into black and white and the shapes of Al Mualim in front of him and of the two guards to his sides vanished. Suddenly he found himself in an empty white room. For a brief seconds he thought it was what death felt like but then he could hear a woman's voice from far away. 

 

“His heart's rate is critical! We have to get him out of that, now!”

 

Everything went black and suddenly there were hands all over his body, pulling and shaking him. 

 

“Clay?! Clay, can you hear me?” 

 

It was the voice of the woman and Altair opened his eyes. He starred at her face hovering above him, he blonde hair framing it. 

 

“Clay, please, say something, anything.” She kept talking to him and he knew it was English, but it just didn't made any sense. Nothing made any sense anymore. 

 

“Let go of me”, he shouted at her and pulled away from the hands. For the first time he spotted his surroundings, a white room and next to him stood a man, wearing white clothes. He was laying on a strange table and he saw things he couldn't believe. “What is this sorcery?”, he demanded to know and rose to a sitting position. He looked down his body, but his white assassin's robes were gone. He wore strange clothes made from material he had never seen before. He caught his breath when his glance got to his hands. He had ten fingers. 

 

“Clay, I don't speak Arabic. You have to speak English with me.” He could hear the worry in hear voice. 

 

Clay?

 

What a strange name but at the same time he felt something inside him move as he repeated the foreign word inside his head. He stood up hastily and his legs almost gave away, he had to hold onto the table to not fall. 

 

“Maybe you should lay down. You've spent a long time in the Animus. Come on, I help you.”

 

He understood her words although she had an odd accent but they didn't make any sense. He felt like as if he was inside a dream and could only watch. He felt a hand on his arm and for the blink of an eye a movie started to play inside his head and showed him the life of a child that grew from a boy to a man and he saw and heard things, foreign things, which he didn't know and didn't have words for. Everything happened so fast. But his legs started to move by their own as he was lead into another room with a bed inside. 

 

“Get some rest”, the woman told him in a kind voice as he suddenly knew that her name was Lucy. How he knew her name he couldn't tell. He let her help him into the bed and as she pulled a blanket over his body he saw how the man from before also entered the room holding a strange looking device with a long thin needle at one end in his hands

 

“He will sleep better with this”, he heard him say and watched helpless how he bent down and exposed his right arm. He saw but couldn't feel how the needle disappeared beneath his skin. Seconds later he felt his lids grow heavy, his eyes closed on their own and he was pulled into a dreamless sleep while his last thoughts went to Malik. 

 

He regretted it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Clay has killed himself.”

 

“I know. That bounces us back with our progress, but we could gather a lot of information's through him.”

 

“We left him too long in the Animus, Dr. Vidic. I believe he thought he was Altair. He had spoken Arabic, damn it! It was the fucking Bleeding Effect!”

 

“Ms. Stillmann, when your emotions are getting in the way of your work I begin to wonder if you're the right person for this kind of job after all.” 

 

“N-No, Sir. No... It's just that-”

 

“Good. Subject seventeen has already arrived. I would say we begin with the memories where we left off with subject sixteen. I suggest we should skip those, well, emotional moments and focusing on those who are important to us in the future.” 

 

“You've already found a new ancestor?”

 

“Indeed. His name is Desmond Miles.”

 

 

######  **Fin**

###### 

 

 

 


End file.
